Recently my mother told me that she ran into my old teacher, Mrs. Isaacs, who told her to give me a hug. For many reasons Mrs. Isaacs was my favourite teacher. One incident stands out far from the rest. In response to the Daily Post’s writing challenge on “Transcripts” this post is about the one day with Mrs. Isaacs that still stays with me, even now.
It was 1996, a new school had opened very close to my home, so I had all new teachers. I was 11 years old. I was an overweight child and had never been good at any form of physical activity. At the beginning of every school year, students would compete against each other in different sports activities which would them lead to the winners from different schools competing against each other at inter school sports days. Participation in sorting the wheat from the chaff for these events was compulsory for everyone. This included me, with all my extra bread rolls.
By this time, whenever running was required in years gone by I would be last across the finish line. I had reconciled myself to this inevitable reality. Enter Mrs Isaacs. A woman who ran miles every single morning for what seemed like her entire life. Before we take our marks, she explains that running is only ten percent legs and the other ninety percent is in your mind. She explains this with such graceful conviction that somehow, I actually believe her. In this simple act of believing, I run. I really and truly run. When I stop and look around me, behind me even, I am not last. Never mind the fact that I am not last, there are other children who are thinner than I am, who crossed the finish line after me. I stood there, flabbergasted.